According to Jonah Hargreaves, Alys Bailey had a brother and sister-in-law, but there was no way of knowing what their relationship might have been or if they had known or approved of Alys’s lifestyle. If local lore was to be believed and Lady Lockwood had been the one to bring charges against Alys, then the blacksmith would not have wanted to run afoul of the noble family that likely owned the village, the church, and all the land beyond. Might Alys’s kin have wished to rid themselves of the child? I wrote this in my notebook, underlining the question twice. He would have been a reminder of something best forgotten. Associating with a known witch could have repercussions for the family, and with Alys gone, her relations would want only to move on.
My research confirmed that there had been an outbreak of smallpox in the village in the summer of 1639. Nearly half the villagers died, while many others must have been left scarred for life, their faces covered in raised red bumps that were synonymous with smallpox. I briefly wondered if Alys had been ill. Variolation, or what we now know as inoculation, didn’t come to Europe from Asia and the Ottoman Empire until the very end of the seventeenth century. It was severely opposed by the Church, given that the proponents of the method urged the healthy to use pus or grind up dried scabs taken from the sick and put the powder or discharge up their noses.
Many followers of this practice still died, but most got mild symptoms that lasted for only a few days. Of course, Alys would not have known that, but had she been a healer, or a wisewoman, as they were called in those days, she might have tried to use her potions to help the afflicted, most specifically her own family. Medical intervention would have been virtually nonexistent, especially for the poor, who couldn’t afford to pay a physician, nor was there likely to be one close to hand. Personal hygiene might have been more prevalent among the wealthy, who had servants to lug up buckets of water for baths and to clean their clothes, but as a rule, people didn’t bathe regularly, nor did they bother to wash their hands, cooking and eating with hands that were teeming with germs.
Perhaps some of the villagers had unwittingly touched their noses or mouths with hands that had been in direct contact with pus or scabs and had inoculated themselves without meaning to. It was an interesting theory, but there was absolutely nothing to support it, and it really had no bearing on my story. I knew that Alys had survived the outbreak. What I didn’t know was whether she had been in any way blamed for it or was believed to have been immune because of her relationship with the devil.
An interesting thought struck me just before lunch. According to my research, Alys’s version of the name was more popular in German-speaking countries. I had no way of knowing if Alys had Germanic roots, but it was possible that if anything about her had ever been posted online, her name might have been spelled the traditional way. It was certainly worth a look. I was just about to go down that particular rabbit hole when my stomach reminded me it was time to report downstairs. I set aside my research and left my room. The smell of roast chicken wafted from the kitchen, and my stomach growled despite the cake I’d eaten not three hours ago. All this fresh country air was making me unusually hungry.
Everyone was already in the dining room when I arrived at a quarter past one—well, almost everyone. Yvonne hadn’t arrived yet. Len kept glancing at the door, his gaze anxious.
“Has anyone seen Yvonne this morning?” he asked, looking around the table.
“No,” Paul said.
“Not me. I’ve been working in the carriage house,” Anna said.
“I haven’t seen her,” Kyle said.
“Nicole, what about you?” Len asked.
I shook my head.
“She must be avoiding you,” Paul teased. I thought it was common knowledge by then that something had happened between Len and Yvonne last night.
“Why would she be avoiding me?” Len asked defensively. His face tight with anger, he no longer appeared attractive, just menacing.
“You tell us,” Paul replied. His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of accusation in it.
“If you’re implying that I did something to hurt Yvonne, your suggestion is unfounded at best, slanderous at worst,” Len snapped. “Lisa, have you seen Yvonne today?” he asked as soon as Lisa walked in, carrying a tureen of soup. “Did she come down to breakfast this morning?”
Lisa set the tureen on the table and considered the question. “I haven’t seen her, but I’ve been in the kitchen and the office for most of the morning. She might have had breakfast and I wouldn’t have known.”
“Please, can you check her room?” Len asked. “I knocked earlier, but there was no response. No one has seen her since last night.”
“Maybe she doesn’t wish to be disturbed,” Lisa replied, but she did look concerned.
“She could be ill,” Anna pointed out.
“Who was the last person to see Yvonne?” Lisa asked, glancing at each of us in turn.
“I was,” Len replied, looking a bit sheepish. “She left my room around two and went to her own.”
“The walk of shame,” Paul said dramatically.
“We have nothing to be ashamed of,” Len exploded. “We’re adults, in case you haven’t noticed.”
No one said anything, but the air was thick with tension. Neither Len nor Yvonne
